Tense. Piano wire tight in a world of currents and currency.
The need to be loved, shoved deep into the cupboard,
I've got my mean mug on. Where did this care, despair, wear and tear come from? There?
Him? He was a blip, on the flip, just another dick, a headboard tick.
His orange hair and dopey laugh, an affair to be photographed and forgotten.
Got my single panties in the wash.
On the prowl, hear my growl, stalking, a woman in her thirties is the new predator.
I need a thick, deep distraction like my thoughts need an editor.
And you? just. might. work.
Please, stop talking. I don't care what you say, think, feel, or do.
Call me mishandric, call me a user, a loser, confused or ego-bruised,
Just call me. Ease this tension for a minute or two and leave.
I got shit to do.